Love Finds You in Mackinac Island, Michigan (3 page)

The landau rolled through the busy village and began the steep climb up the eastern bluff. Mama’s perfectly positioned parasol covered most of Elena’s head, so she could neither see outside the open carriage or be seen. The breeze whirled long strands of hair across her face, mocking her. The ostrich feathers in her mother’s hat fluttered in the wind, but the hat itself didn’t so much as tilt in the breeze.

Elena hadn’t meant to let her hat fly away, but there was no use in trying to convince her mother of her innocence. Nor could she remind Mama that she was the one who straightened it before they left the boat and then told Elena not to hold onto it.

Her father tapped his cane on the leather seat beside him, looking across the carriage at Elena. “I never really liked that hat anyway.”

The parasol dipped ever so slightly as her mother nodded toward the driver above her shoulder. “Hush, Arthur.”

Elena smiled gratefully at her father. When the same hat arrived last week, newly tailored and cushioned with paper, Papa had lavished praise for its beauty and design. She too had liked the soft feathers above the band and the simplicity of the pale pink. The color reminded her of the sun’s blush over the lazy mornings on Lake Huron, like a shy maid waiting to greet her beau.

The kingdom Papa had built in Chicago was collapsing around them, the floors cracking under their feet, but oddly enough, he seemed more relaxed than he’d ever been—relieved even. Mama had always been anxious about what others thought, and she was even more anxious this year. Mama thought the well-being of the entire Bissette family rested on her shoulders and the man she was able to lure into marrying Elena. Some days Elena felt a bit like fish bait, dangling out there on a hook while Mama tried to snag the best catch on her line.

Elena smiled at the image of her mother trying to reel in a man, with both the bait and the fish struggling to be free.

Papa took a cigar from his breast pocket, and as he chewed it, he removed from another pocket the tiny booklet he’d purchased on the Chicago pier. He held up the white-and-red-striped book and opened it to display a row of matches. Plucking one of them, he tried to light it with a quick swipe across the booklet. When he failed, he threw it over the carriage and tried again. This time he lit his cigar with the flame before blowing it out.

The match continued to glow in his fingers. “Marvelous little invention, isn’t it?”

Mama rolled her eyes at the stick glowing in Papa’s fingers. She had little appreciation for Papa’s fascination with the latest innovations. “There’s nothing inventive about a match.”

“But these are paper.” He threw that match over the side of the carriage as well before he slid the booklet back into his jacket. “And I’ve never had matches that actually fit in my pocket.”

“It’s still just a match.”

Papa was always trying out something new, often to the detriment of his family. Elena enjoyed seeing the latest inventions with her father, but she silently hoped he would use the paper matches outside their cottage. The contraption he’d tried to toast bread with last summer had caught their kitchen on fire.

“Perhaps it was only a few soldiers who saw you fall.” Mama twisted the parasol in her hand as if it were a shield warding off the smoke. Her words seemed to offer more reassurance to herself than Elena.

If it had only been a few soldiers watching her fall, the story might remain behind the stone walls of the fort. Or the soldiers would carry the story away with them when they left the harbor, not knowing the name of the girl who’d lost her hat in the wind.

Mama leaned away from the driver, whispering to her husband, “Why were there so many soldiers at the harbor?”

He tapped his cigar on the side of the carriage. “For the entertainment, I suppose.”

“Arthur, please.”

He took a long draw on his cigar and released the smoke into the breeze. Her mother again fanned it away with her parasol.

“Perhaps they’re trying to marry off their daughters too.”

Mama glanced up at the carriage driver. “For heaven’s sake, Arthur.” Her voice was a little too loud. “Don’t be so trivial. We’re not here to marry off Elena. We’re here for the healthy quality of the lake and the air.”

“Of course, the quality of the air.” Papa winked. Others might come to Mackinac for the pleasant environment, but Mama was most certainly
not
there for her health.

The carriage turned right when it reached the top of the bluff, and the driver stopped for a moment to let the Belgians rest.

Elena leaned her head back on the leather seat. To her mother’s dismay, her disastrous slip would probably be the talk of Mackinac Island, and if nothing more exciting happened, the story could linger for days. The vacationers loved to talk, but precious little drama occurred during the summers on Mackinac. Gossip was pulled and stretched like the saltwater taffy at Murdick’s, and plenty of young women, along with their mothers, would like nothing better than to keep Elena’s story quite alive for the remainder of the season.

Mama mumbled beside her, and Elena knew exactly why. She was praying fervently that
he
wouldn’t find out what happened.

Mr. Darrington was scheduled to arrive on the island any day. Elena didn’t know much about the man, only the brief tidbits her mother offered. He was the nephew of a woman her mother had met on the mayor’s gardening committee. Mrs. Ingram had told Mama all about Mr. Darrington—a wealthy, successful financier from Detroit who had not yet married.

When Mrs. Ingram said that the Darrington family would be summering for at least a few weeks on Mackinac, Mama was positively giddy. In her mind, this Mr. Darrington was the answer to their problems. The prize fish.

“I wonder if Mr. Darrington has arrived.” The words came out of Mama’s lips as a statement, but Elena knew she was asking a question.

Papa took another draw on his cigar. “I heard he might not be coming after all.”

The parasol clanked on the side of the carriage. “What?”

Papa shrugged. “He’s a very busy man, I suppose. No time for vacation.”

“Mrs. Ingram said he would come.”

“A man has the right to change his mind.”

Elena couldn’t tell her mother so, but she hoped Mr. Darrington would exercise his right to a change of mind. Then she wouldn’t have to pretend to be enthralled with him for her family’s sake. Of course, when he found out the truth about her family’s financial state, he would flee like the society men in Chicago had done.

Now that they were away from the eyes of the townspeople, Mama lowered the parasol. She reached over and patted Elena’s hand. “Don’t worry, Elena, he’ll come.”

Elena glanced down at the cliffs that dropped to the lake below and then at the sunlight glistening across the water. Would it be so awful if she prayed that he wouldn’t come?

She didn’t know this Mr. Darrington, but he was probably like most of the bachelors she knew in Chicago. Those men spent their wealth on horse races and card games and were more interested in indulging themselves than in caring for another. She did want to get married one day, but to a man like her father. Someone successful in his own right. Someone curious and kind and steady during the harder times in life.

Unlike Mama’s fascination with everything grand, Elena loved the simpler things around her. The water and the stars, the birds and the splendor of the lilacs on Mackinac… There was beauty all around them, and yet it seemed that most of the people in their circle of acquaintances were too caught up in their own pleasures to appreciate all that God had given them.

She would marry to help secure her family’s future, but she prayed that her husband would be a person who could revel in God’s beauty with her. Or at least give her the freedom to enjoy it on her own.

The driver clucked his tongue, and the caramel-colored Belgian horses began pulling the carriage again. She closed her eyes and breathed in the sweet smells of Papa’s cigar smoke and the cedar trees around them. Perhaps she could lock herself in her bedroom until tonight. While everyone else slept, she would escape into the darkness.

When she opened her eyes, the white turret of Castle Pines rose above arched gables and trees. A deep red paint accented the eaves of the cottage and the three stories of white scalloped shingles. Lattice wove across the base of the house, rising up to a wide veranda that overlooked the lake.

Windows enclosed half the front porch, while the other half was open to the breeze. Purple and yellow flowers cascaded from woven baskets along the open porch, and colorful Japanese lanterns hung above white wicker chairs, rockers, and tables. A hammock hung in the corner of the veranda, though Elena had never seen anyone use it.

The carriage stopped, and the driver helped Mrs. Bissette and Elena to the ground. Her mother hurried up the steps to the front door. Her father took Elena’s arm and together they strolled toward the veranda.

“Where’s Jillian?” Elena heard Mama’s voice demand from inside the house.

She heard Claude reply, his voice as patient as always. He was used to her mother’s questioning. “Welcome back to Mackinac, Mrs. Bissette.”

“Did Jillian get here before us?”

“She should be coming with the luggage wagons,” Claude said. “Perhaps within the next half hour.”

Claude was their only servant who remained on the island year-round, caring for the house during the harsh winters. Nell, their Chicago cook, had arrived two days ago to help Claude prepare Castle Pines for the summer.

What would happen to Claude if they had to sell the cottage? Even though he didn’t have a family, Mackinac had become his home.

Perhaps he could go back to Chicago with them like Nell did at the end of the season, or the new owners of the cottage could hire him for their staff. At that thought, sadness tweaked Elena’s heart. She didn’t want Claude to work for anyone else.

Claude greeted them at the door. “Welcome home, Mr. Bissette, Miss Elena.”

He took her father’s hat and hung it in the front closet. “Nell has prepared tea for you in the drawing room.”

The grained floors of their cottage were a yellow Georgia pine, the paneled walls barely visible behind the pictures of horses, mountains, and beaches. Elena stepped toward the pocket doors that enclosed the drawing room, but Mama stopped and motioned toward Elena’s hair. Sighing, Elena walked toward the bathroom instead.

Claude bent down and whispered as he passed her, “Your bicycle is behind the house. Same place as last year.”

She took a deep breath as her mother disappeared into the drawing room. “You know I adore you.”

A mischievous smile lit his tanned face. “The stars were spectacular last night.”

She smiled in return.

Claude followed her parents through the doorway of the drawing room, and Elena hurried down the hallway. Inside the bathroom, light sifted through the sheer green curtains that hung over the oval window and shone on the white cast-iron tub. Elena stared at herself in the mirror.

Her eyes were light blue, her skin pale and smooth from the best creams money could buy. She had Mama’s slender nose and Papa’s light brown hair. Hers was about as unruly as his, as well. She’d always wanted to have golden hair, like Jillian, but her hair was more the color of the pebbles bedded along Mackinac’s shore.

A half dozen pins stuck out in angles around her head, with strands of her hair shooting out like a meteor of stars. In the sky the stars were a brilliant sight, but it wasn’t so pretty on the top of one’s head.

Slowly she tugged out each of the pins, and the rest of her hair tumbled down her back. Waves bounced around her shoulders as she shook her head. Relief filled her as the aching from the pins disappeared.

She heard the
clip-clop
of horses’ hooves and then voices. Pulling aside the curtains, she saw ten hired wagons lined up the avenue, the Saratoga trunks stacked in each one filled with gowns for every occasion, parasols, slippers, stockings, capes, wrappers, and suits for Papa. Mama made sure their wardrobes lacked for nothing during their vacation.

“Jillian!” her mother called outside the bathroom door.

Elena sat on the edge of the bathtub, hoping Mama would subdue her anger by the time Jillian walked into the house.

“Elena’s hat,” she heard her mother say. “It wasn’t pinned on.”

“Wh–what?” Jillian stammered.

“The moment we stepped off the boat it flew off, as if the pins had vanished into the air.”

“But I pinned it on—”

Elena stood up, placing her hand on the doorknob. She understood the fear in Jillian’s voice. If she lost this position, Mama would never give Jillian a good reference. And Jillian had no family to return to in Chicago. She needed to work.

Jillian’s parents had died when she was young, just like Mama’s parents, and she worked as hard as Mama once had. Her mother hadn’t said it, and Elena didn’t dare ask, but she wondered if Mama saw a bit of herself in Jillian and it frightened her.

Her mother lowered her voice. “I need you to do your job and do it well, or I’ll have to send you back to the city.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jillian’s voice quaked.

“And from now on…”

Elena threw the bathroom door open. “Oh, there you are, Jillian.”

Tears welled in Jillian’s pretty blue eyes, but Elena didn’t acknowledge those. Instead, with a sheepish smile, she held up a handful of pins. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’m in desperate need of your help.”

Jillian glanced at Mama. Elena didn’t care.

“Elena.” Her mother’s use of her name was a warning, but she didn’t stop talking.

“I was fiddling with the pins on the boat.” She pointed toward her hair. “I took out a couple without even thinking, and then the wind stole away my brand-new hat on the pier.”

“Oh dear,” Jillian murmured.

“I’m perfectly angry at myself, but there’s nothing I can do about it now.” She twisted her hair with her free hand. “Could you please pin it up again for me? Then maybe you can help me find another hat.”

Jillian stole another glance at Mama.

Mama waved her hand. “Go.”

Jillian didn’t hesitate this time, scurrying into the bathroom behind Elena. As Elena locked the door, Jillian collapsed on the stool beside the bathtub, tears flooding her cheeks. Elena turned the faucet on the sink, hoping the sound of running water would drown her words.